


Twelve Step Program

by Timid_Timbuktu



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Control Issues, M/M, Mild knife play, PWP, Smut, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timid_Timbuktu/pseuds/Timid_Timbuktu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles Matheson has always had anger management issues.  So when he enters a twelve-step program everyone is overjoyed, everyone except Sebastian Monroe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Step Program

**Author's Note:**

  * For [3988Akasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/gifts), [ElDiablito_SF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/gifts).



> I am practicing my slash smut, and trying out a mildly experimental format for myself. Hopefully, y'all enjoy.
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Let me know if you catch some.

**Step 1: If You Do, Acknowledge That You Have a Problem Managing Anger**  


“You shot Sergeant Rollins in the head?”

Miles tried not to roll his eyes. He stood, hands behind his back in Bass’s office, Jeremy Baker by his side.

“Why?” Bass continued with a sigh.

“He lost track of the insurgents.”

“He made a mistake and you shot him in the head?”

“Stop dancing, Bass. If there is something you want to say, spit it out.”

“You have a problem, Miles. Shooting random rebels in the head, that’s great. Shooting our soldiers…”

“Not so great, “ Jeremy murmured, causing Miles to send him a pointed scowl.

“Don’t glare at Jeremy. It’s true.”

“And you’re not my fucking mother,” Miles hissed, striding over to the cabinet, pulling out Bass’s favorite cognac and throwing the entire decanter on the hardwood floor.

Jeremy gave Bass a lop-sided smirk as Miles stormed out of the room, “Hope you weren’t planning to drink any Courvoisier tonight.”

**Step 2: Use Your Support Network**

Miles, Jeremy and Bass had just endured a dinner with Captain Neville and his wife. Bass had never completely understood why Miles hated the Nevilles so much, especially Julia. She was a backstabbing bitch, to be sure, but she was also interesting and intellectual company. After they left, Miles sat at the table, spinning his whiskey glass around on the oak surface and tapping his foot against the floor. He was driving Sebastian crazy.

“Stop, please, Miles,” he said a little more forcefully than necessary, causing Miles to glare at him. But he stopped. They stared at each other, a face-off of annoyance.

Jeremy stepped between them, “How about a game of poker? We haven’t played in weeks, and I still need to demolish you, Miles, like I promised I would.”

 _Thank God for Jeremy_ , Bass thought. He was the perpetual peacemaker. Saving him ten years ago had been one of the best decisions Miles had ever made. Sebastian couldn’t imagine his life without his best friend, well his best friend next to Miles, of course. Although Miles had become so much more than a friend that Bass no longer thought of him in those terms. Miles was everything.

The tension dissolved from Miles’s shoulders and he leaned back into his chair.

“Sure,” he said, a genuine smile on his lips.

**Step 3: Laugh at Yourself**

“I call you,” Jeremy said, his cards fanned out in his hand, his eyes lacking any emotion.

They used to play with the coins of the former United States of America, a currency as useless now as poker chips had always been. But a couple years ago they found that it was more entertaining to play with something real, so they had chosen something that all of them loved dearly: alcohol.

Sebastian’s hand had only contained a pair of sevens so he had dropped out of this round long ago. Jeremy and Miles had gone head-to-head, escalating the kitty to a level that it had never before achieved, with eight bottles of assorted alcohols sitting in the center of the table. Miles had just thrown in his last bottle of Johnny Walker blue label and Jeremy had thrown in two bottles of Grey Goose. Bass leaned back in his chair, ready for the fireworks.

Miles grinned, “Full house, Jacks over threes.”

Bass breathed in. It looked like he and Miles were about to become the owners of some new delicious alcohol.

Jeremy placed his cards on the table, “Queens over nines.”

“Oh shit,” Bass started to laugh uproariously. He’d certainly miss that Johnny Walker Blue, but the ear-to-ear grin on Jeremy’s face made it all worth it, “Your ass just got owned, Miles.”

Jeremy laughed, pulling the eight bottles of alcohol on the table toward him. He grabbed the _piece de resistance_ , the Johnny Walker and hugged it to his chest, “You may be the last blue label in all of the world, and I get to drink you.”

“Invite me over when you do,” Bass said, standing up and slinging his arm over Jeremy’s shoulder to look at the bottle.

“You guys are assholes,” Miles muttered, folding his arms over his chest and pouting. Bass and Jeremy only laughed harder.

“You shouldn’t have thrown it into the kitty,” Bass replied.

“Shut up.”

“Miles,” Jeremy said, suppressing his laughter with great difficulty, “When have we ever not shared our spoils from these games? I promise you’ll taste Johnny Walker Blue on your lips again before it is gone from the world forever.”

Miles breathed out and shook his head, “Sorry, I…you won it fair and square. I just really love Blue.”

Bass went to him and rubbed his back, “Probably a good lesson then, never throw your favorite alcohol in the kitty unless you have a straight royal flush.”

Miles chuckled, “Where was that advice five minutes ago, babe?”

**Step 4: Relax**

Sebastian raked his fingernails along Miles’s back, trying to spur him on. He craved violence. He needed a thorough pounding, skin against skin in a heated sea of anger.

Instead, Miles gazed at him lovingly.

“Harder, fuck me harder, like the whore I am,” Sebastian growled.

“Shh,” Miles bent down and planted feather kisses on Bass’s cheeks, “You’re not a whore, baby. Don’t say stuff like that.”

Bass furrowed his brow and looked at him. Don’t say stuff like that? _Don’t say stuff like that?_ Miles was the one who loved to throw around terms like whore, slut, and bitch.

“Miles, stop,” Bass said quietly, when Miles continued to tediously thrust in and out of his ass, Bass pushed him hard in the chest, “I said fucking stop. Get off of me.”

Miles stepped back and looked at him with complete confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but Bass cut him off.

“I’m just not in the mood anymore,” Bass muttered, fleeing the room as quickly as possible. He couldn’t handle a conversation right now.

He strode into his study, and locked the door so that Miles couldn’t annoy him. What the Hell had happened to Miles? The sex had never been boring, ever. Bass went through the twelve steps in his head, trying to figure out which one Miles was currently working on…four…Relax-fucking-ation. He was on number four. 

At first, Bass had been on board with this anger management plan, hell, he had promoted it. Miles’s violence was getting out of hand. Bass had also secretly hoped that if Miles was bottling up his rage, it might come out, deliciously, when he had Bass writhing underneath him.

He could see the flaw in that reasoning now. He never expected Miles to actually master his anger, he expected him to bury it. But, if this boring vanilla pudding sex that he was currently having was any indicator, Miles was rapidly becoming the master of his anger. Bass had to do something about it quickly.

**Step 5: Maintain a "Hostility Log"**

Sebastian tiptoed into the bedroom he shared with Miles. He knew where Miles kept his “log,” but it had taken over a week to steal the key from Miles. He had been forced to challenge Miles to a drinking game, and then forced to act like he was drinking more liquor than he actually was. Bass never could have won a real drinking game against Miles. He felt slightly guilty about lying to him and leaving him passed out on the couch, but he needed to know what was in this “hostility log” of his. The log was a way for him to keep track of why he became angry so he could understand his triggers.

_13 April: Jeremy made me want to snap his neck today. “As a joke,” he drank the last of the whiskey in my glass when I left to go to the bathroom._

_13 April: I wanted to punch Bass when he just laughed about it like it was the most hilarious thing._

_14 April: Neville pushed his sunglasses onto his forehead. Sunglasses are for your eyes, douche. I could have kicked him._

_14 April: Rachel was being a petulant bitch. She deserves a good slapping._

_14 April: Neville smirked at me twelve times during a three-minute conversation. Twelve fucking times. Smirky little bastard deserves to have his ass handed to him._

_14 April: Julia Neville showed up. What a hoe._

_15 April: Jeremy and Bass were sharing an inside joke and not including me. They just kept laughing when I got mad, saying that I look “cute” when I’m mad. I’ll show them cute._

_15 April: Neville being Neville. That’s all._

It went on for pages like that. Bass sat on the floor with a sigh and read and read and read. Finally he found something interesting.

_25 May: I saw Corporal Houston flirting with Bass again. The way he looks at Bass, it is like he wants to devour him. I could easily slide a sword into his gut. Thankfully, Bass seems oblivious._

Bass skimmed through the entries, searching for Houston’s name.

_3 June: Houston was eyeing Bass again during my training session with the platoon. Fuck-twat._

_18 June: Houston touched Bass’s arm because he didn’t think I was looking. Little asshole. Bass didn’t seem to notice, but he didn’t shrug it off either. I wonder if Houston always touches Bass when he doesn’t know I’m looking._

**Step 6: Use Anger Management Techniques to Interrupt the Anger Cycle**

The platoon was building their skills with longbows. Normally, Bass was too busy to observe simple training sessions, but this was the platoon that contained Corporal Houston, and this was the day that Miles was leading the training session himself.

Miles gave Bass a faint smile, “Morning, General Monroe. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Bass grinned. It had become a game to them, this snarky formality when they were around their men, “Just wanted to see how the new trainees are doing, General Matheson.”

Miles nodded and the soldiers lined up. Bass watched from a distance for a while. He couldn’t be obvious when setting this trap. It had to seem subtle and unplanned. After ten minutes, he began to pace around the men as they shot arrow after arrow into the straw dummies at the end of the field. After another ten minutes, he stopped next to Houston, observing him more closely than the others. He could feel Miles gaze on him, and he resisted the overwhelming urge to look over at him. Looking at Miles and then flirting with Houston would have been the definition of obvious.

“Corporal,” Bass said, stepping toward him, “You need to keep your elbow up, like this,” he grasped the man’s elbow and pushed it up, making sure that his chest brushed gently across the private’s back as he did.

“Then, when you pull the string back, you need to tilt your hips more, like this,” he placed his hands on either side of Houston’s lower back and rotated his hips. He didn’t actually need to rotate his hips more, but Bass need to sell this performance.

“Now try,” Bass stepped away from the private as he unleashed his arrow. It missed the target by ten feet. 

Houston turned to Bass, embarrassment in his eyes, “Sorry, sir.”

Bass simply shook his head and flashed him the sweetest smile he could, the smile that he usually reserved for Miles and Jeremy. The smile that made his eyes sparkle. He must have succeeded, because Houston’s eyes grew wide and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Don’t be,” Bass murmured, “I’ll just have to keep helping you.”

After another ten minutes, when Bass supposed that Miles was appropriately furious, he stepped away from Houston and walked the line of men, giving each of them some tips, a cover to make his flirting with Houston seem less obvious.

He stopped in front of a dead-eyed, straight-lipped Miles, “They’re looking good, General Matheson, carry on.”

He could feel the heat of Miles’s gaze the entire walk back up the hill and into town.

**Step 7: Use Empathy**

When Miles entered Sebastian’s office two hours later, closing the door behind him, Bass told himself he was ready, but the butterflies in his stomach didn’t agree. 

Miles walked purposefully across the room, rage emanated from his every movement, and stopped a few feet from Bass’s desk. Bass leaned back in his chair and tried to sound innocent, “Miles?”

“Sebastian,” Miles said after a pointed sigh, “Have I done something to anger you or hurt you in some way?”

Bass felt like he was on a tilt-a-whirl, thrown completely off balance by Miles’s behavior. Miles should have been yelling and throwing decanters of alcohol on the floor, and instead he was trying to start a conversation about feelings.

“No,” he said it more like a question, “Why would you ask that?”

“It’s just the way you were…behaving…with Houston,” Miles was pausing after every other word, obviously choosing his words very carefully, “It…uh…almost seemed like…flirting.”

Bass paused. He had no idea how to respond to a sensible Miles. He stood up, walked around the desk and then leaned back onto it. His lover certainly seemed like he was seething, so Sebastian had no idea why he wasn’t throwing a tantrum.

“Well, Houston is a rather charming young man. Why shouldn’t I harmlessly flirt?” Bass squinted his eyes, studying the way Miles’s nose flared. He was definitely enraged.

“I was just wondering if it was because you feel neglected by me in some way?”

Sebastian had never had a more confusing conversation in his entire life. Miles was trying to _understand_ why Bass was flirting with another man, rather than simply reclaiming what Miles considered to be his. Bass wanted to yell at him, _Yes, I feel neglected. You’ve become a complete wet noodle in bed._ But he didn’t think that was the right tactic. He needed Miles’s anger to burst free on it’s own.

“Maybe it has nothing to do with you. He is an attractive man, with that tight little ass and that supple mouth. Can you imagine that mouth wrapped around your cock?”

**Step 8: Be Assertive**

Miles punched him, making his head whip back as he fell onto the desk. Before he could recover Miles was on him, hand fisted in his hair as he dragged him off of the desk and pushed him onto the ground.

He bent down and pulled Bass’s head up, their faces inches from each other, “You want another man’s mouth around your cock?”

Bass smiled at him, breathing hard, blood rushing to his dick, “Why not?”

Miles punched him again and Bass tasted blood. He licked it from his lips, as Miles strode around the desk and retrieved a length of rope from the lower left drawer. Bass shivered with anticipation. Miles roughly pulled Sebastian’s hands up, wrapping the rope around his wrists, binding them together. He tied it, just a little too tightly, and pulled Bass to his feet.

“You must have a death wish, Sebastian Monroe,” he whispered into Bass’s ear before running his lips along his cheek to his mouth. He pulled Bass’s head back and thrust his tongue into his mouth, ravishing him, not stopping until Bass’s lips had become flushed and swollen from the force of his kiss.

As Bass tried to catch his breath, Miles grabbed the rope around his wrists and dragged him from the room, down the hallway and into their bedroom.

**Step 9: Build Trust**

Bass’s cock was straining rather painfully against his trousers as Miles threw him onto the bed and climbed on top of him. Sebastian hadn’t felt this aroused in months. Miles tied the other end of the rope to their headboard, securing Bass’s arms above his head.

He gazed down at him with lidded eyes and began to unbutton his military jacket. It was only after he’d finished, and uncovered Bass’s dark blue undershirt, that Miles seemed to notice the error in his plans. With Bass’s hand tied together above his head, Miles couldn’t pull the jacket or the shirt off.

“Looks like you’ll have to untie me,” Bass smirked. He didn’t want to be untied, but he was still trying to be petulant in order to drive Miles deeper into a rage. Plus, he really needed to be naked. His clothes were becoming a downright nuisance.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Miles replied, getting up and rifling through the small desk in the corner of the room. Bass missed the weight of his body immediately. He shivered when Miles pulled a knife and a pair of scissors from the drawer and turned to him with fire in his eyes, crossing the room like a panther, lithe and deadly. He climbed back onto the bed, straddling Bass’s body, his erection brushing against Bass’s hip.

Miles ran the knife gently down Bass’s left cheek, pausing when the cold metal tip of the blade reached his neck.

“You’re mine,” Miles whispered, making Bass’s stomach churn with desire, “Say it.”

Bass just smirked and said nothing. He licked his lips seductively, raising his eyebrow at Miles, who groaned in frustration.

“Prove it,” Bass said.

Miles pulled the undershirt away from Bass’s body and sliced it right down the middle, exposing Bass’s hairless chest. Miles preferred it that way. He pushed the torn fabric aside and sucked Bass’s nipples hard, blowing on them afterward to make them pucker. Bass growled deep in his throat, watching his lover intently. Miles responded with a wicked grin, a smile that promised of the pain and degradation that Bass was about to endure. He placed the knife on the bedside dresser and picked up the scissors, cutting length-wise along the sleeves of the jacket and the undershirt. He wrestled them from underneath Bass’s body and discarded them onto the floor.

“I only have three jackets total and you just ruined one,” Bass said, worrying his lips between his teeth.

“Then you better learn your place quickly, unless you want to walk around naked,” Miles grinned at that, “That’s a good idea, I’ll carve up your other uniforms when I’m done here.”

Bass chuckled, deep and throaty, like warm chocolate, “You do realize I’d be walking around naked in front of everyone, Jeremy, Neville, Corporal Houston…”

Miles clenched his fist around Bass’s chin and leaned in, his breath tickling Bass’s cheek. He pushed the edge of the scissors onto the sensitive skin of Bass’s neck.

“You must want me to rip you apart,” he whispered, “Well, you’re about to get your wish.”

He pulled Bass’s shoes, pants and boxers off, carelessly throwing them to the floor. It felt strangely erotic, to be completely nude when Miles was still fully dressed. Miles dropped the scissors onto the floor as well, and leaned down to plant light kisses along Bass’s abdomen. The change in tone was disconcerting, like Bass was in the eye of the storm, experiencing a slight reprieve from Miles’s wrath before total destruction was unleashed.

Miles grabbed the base of Bass’s dick and licked a trail to the head. He wrapped his mouth around it and sucked in, making Bass’s cock pulse with need. His head fell back onto the bed as he closed his eyes, his entire being focused on Miles’s warm, wet mouth.

He left the peaceful eye of the storm when Miles brushed his teeth along Bass's length, just a little too hard.

“Shit,” Bass cried out, trying to pull away. It was no use, Miles had him pinned under the weight of his body.

Bass stared straight at him, his voice level, "Don't do that again."

Miles gazed up at him, his face growing solemn. He pulled back and nodded, but the anger was still there.

This was a game that Bass did not know the rules to. Miles had long been in control in the bedroom, because Bass loved to be used, to be pounded into the mattress. But Miles had never inflicted real pain. Maybe Miles hadn’t been conquering his anger during this whole stupid twelve-step program. Maybe he had simply been burying his rage, and Sebastian had stupidly unearthed it. It had been three months since Miles had started the program. If the anger had simply been building during that time, Bass had no idea how much might be simmering just underneath the surface of this game.

“You’re mine," Miles said, his voice was a whisper with a hint of insecurity. It was a question this time, rather than a statement. He looked ready to stop, ready to pull back, afraid he had gone too far in his anger.

“I’m yours,” Bass whispered. If his hands hadn't been tied he would have reached for Miles to show him it was okay. Instead he nodded his head twice, his eyes warm.

**Step 10: Listen to the Needs of Others**

The side of Miles’s mouth twitched up. He stripped off his jacket and shirt, standing up briefly to remove the rest of his clothing. Climbing back on top of Bass, he rubbed his chest up the length of Bass’s body until finally their faces were aligned, inches apart. Miles rubbed the backs of his fingers along his lover’s cheek. When Bass opened his mouth to sigh, Miles caressed his thumb along the seam of Bass’s lips. He sucked Miles’s thumb into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and closing his eyes.

Miles moaned, pulling his thumb out and straddling Bass’s chest, replacing his thumb with his dick. Bass could feel his entire body humming with need. He had certainly been sexually frustrated during the past few weeks, but he hadn’t realized how much until this moment. He needed Miles to use his body in any way he desired. He obediently opened his mouth and Miles shoved his cock in until it hit the back of his throat. Bass relaxed, opening up his throat and trying to stifle his body’s natural instinct to gag. Miles fucked his mouth without mercy, head thrown back, not caring when Bass coughed and gagged. It continued until Bass started to feel fuzzy from lack of oxygen. He wanted to continue, relishing the look of unabashed desire on Miles’s face, but he needed oxygen more. He turned his head, pulling his mouth from Miles’s cock, and sucked in multiple rapid breaths.

When he looked back up at Miles he found a genuine smile on his lover’s face, “You have a beautiful mouth.”

He flipped Bass over onto his stomach, pulling his hips up so that his ass was sticking in the air. Miles kneaded the muscles of his ass, kissing and sucking the flesh into his mouth. Bass groaned, pushing himself forward slightly to accommodate the fact that his arms were still tied to the headboard. Miles reached over and pulled the oil from the dresser drawer, making Bass shiver with anticipation. He desperately wanted to fist his cock, it was aching. The fact that he couldn’t, because his hands were tied, only made the desire greater.

“Please,” he panted pathetically, making Miles chuckle wickedly.

“Please what, baby?”

Bass felt a hot, slippery finger enter him, and he cried out, losing all focus on the conversation. Miles made slow circles with his finger, opening him up enough to thrust a second finger in. Bass’s breathing became erratic and he thrust back into Miles’s fingers, grunting with each entry.

“Please what, Sebastian?” Miles repeated.

“You know.”

“Say it.”

“Fuck me.”

**Step 11: Live Each Day as if it is Your Last**

Miles pulled his fingers out and Bass mourned the loss of them, even though he knew that something even better was coming. Miles pushed in slowly, waiting for Bass to stretch enough to accommodate him. Sebastian was shaking by the time Miles was seated fully. He left his cock there without moving it and ran his hands down Bass’s back, his touch light and tickling. Sebastian thrust himself back into Miles. He had no patience for tenderness now. He needed to be pounded, ruthlessly.

Miles chuckled and pulled out, sliding back in slowly. Bass pushed back again, trying to drive him to go faster. But Miles wouldn’t cooperate. He kept fucking him slowly, methodically, rolling his hips, making Bass cry out every time he rubbed his prostate.

“Goddamn it, Miles,” Bass panted, “Just fuck me already.”

“You think you can tell me what to do?” Miles responded, still fucking him painfully slowly, “You flirtatious little whore. You don’t tell me what to do.”

“Fuck, Miles, it’s you. It’s only you. You have to know that. Please.”

Miles chuckled again, but Bass must have said something correct, because he also grabbed Bass’s hips and pounded him forcefully, pushing him in to the mattress. Bass felt like he was going to explode. His cock was twitching and he pulled hopelessly against his restraints, wishing that he could stroke himself. Miles didn’t let up, he was an inextricable force, filling Bass, reducing him to a mass of shivering, moaning desire. Without warning he felt his balls clench and his body tingled and shook with a violent orgasm.

“Jesus,” Miles said behind him, sounding equally surprised by Bass’s orgasm. He quickened his pace. As Bass came down from his high, he felt Miles bury himself to the hilt and groan as he filled Bass with his come. 

Bass had never come before without direct stimulation. He didn’t think it was possible for him. Apparently, he just hadn’t tested his body enough. He’d never before had his hands tied to the headboard, making him unable to stroke himself. It had been a whole different type of release, to come just from Miles’s cock buried inside of him. It had been amazing, one of the best fucks of his life.

**Step 12: Forgive**

Miles dragged his body up to Bass and untied his wrists. Bass rubbed them, finally realizing how sore they were. Miles lay down beside him, sweaty, sticky and exhausted.

“Sorry, baby,” he murmured, “I kind of lost my cool.”

“Does it seem like I didn’t enjoy it?”

Miles grinned and closed his eyes, sighing.

“Don’t kill Corporal Houston,” Bass said, “I have absolutely no interest in him. I was just trying to piss you off.”

Miles opened his eyes and propped his head up with his hand, “Really?”

“You honestly thought I wanted him? You have absolutely nothing to worry about. So, please don’t kill him. Plus, he is becoming a much better archer, so it would be a shame to lose him.”

“I’m not going to kill him,” Miles said, “But it isn’t because of any of those lame reasons.”

“Really? Why are you not going to kill him?”

Miles ran his finger lazily down Bass’s chest, “Because if I killed him, who would you flirt with when you want to drive me into a jealous rage?”

Bass smiled. Miles had never been stupid. Of course, Miles had known what Bass was up to the entire time, but that hadn’t made his jealousy any less tangible.

“Deal,” Bass murmured, “But one more thing. If you are going to keep doing this twelve-step program, can you keep it out of the bedroom?”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> These are actual 12 steps for anger management that I found online, although slightly rearranged to fit my "plot."


End file.
